


Love For an Old Friend, or Lust For a Madman?

by MoriadlerAdlerson



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-15 17:29:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1313290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoriadlerAdlerson/pseuds/MoriadlerAdlerson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Irene Adler is a rising star in the singing world, having been tutored by a mysterious phantom, who she believe is an angel sent by her mother. But, this so-named 'Angel of Music' is really a disfigured man named Jim, who has a near obsession with the singer. When Sherlock, an old childhood friend of Irene's, comes back into her life, and Jim's obsession grows into madness, Irene must then choose between her love for Sherlock, or the admiration and entrancement she has for Jim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a more modern adaptation of Phantom!Lock.
> 
> Inspiration was drawn from the 1909-1910 novel by Gaston Leroux (It was originally published in parts), and the 1986 musical by Andrew Lloyd Webber.
> 
> Christine Daaé - Irene Adler  
> Vicomte Raoul de Chagny - Sherlock Holmes  
> Comte Philippe de Chagny - Mycroft Holmes  
> Erik/The Phantom - Jim Moriarty  
> Carlotta Giudicelli - Sally Donovan  
> Ubaldo Piangi - Anderson  
> Madame Giry - Mrs. Hudson  
> Meg Giry - Molly Hooper  
> Manager - Greg Lestrade

Present day London. Not well known for it's art, but it still had a sense of beauty to it that drew people in. It could be the lights and sounds of the city, though many can find more of that in Paris. Same with the amounts of shops and restaurants. There was just something unique about London, a place some are happy to call home. One of the more popular places in London was the Palace Theatre. A historical site built in 1891, originally known as the Royal English Opera House. It has since changed some in appearance, thanks to the numerous renovations over the years. But, it remains a place where people can watch many performances and films. This upcoming performance happens to be Evita, the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical that surrounded the life of Eva Perón, from her early years to her rise to power, to her eventual death that crushed many in Argentina. The lead singer and Prima Donna, Donovan, would have played the role of Eve this evening. But, by some unknown force, she had lost her voice. They suggested an understudy, but Donovan had no understudy. She despised them, preferring to work on her own for the good of her own career. A trait that, along with her careless attitude, made her unlikeable by most of the company, with the exception of her lover, Anderson. "A _full house_!" Lestrade uttered in full furiosity. "We shall have to refund a _full house_!"

"Miss Irene Adler could do it, sir." Mrs. Hudson, one of the caretakers of the theater, and an eye over the dancers, spoke up. Irene Adler, a simple chorus girl, looked up when her name was mentioned, having been talking with her friend, and fellow cast member, Molly. Greg took a brief look at Irene. "What? A chorus girl? Don't be ridiculous." He scoffed. He had several doubts in him mind about this. "She has been taking lessons from a marvelous teacher." She pointed out. This raised up a major question for Lestrade. "Who?" He almost demanded of the girl. "I don't know his name, sir." She timidly spoke up.

"Let her sing for you, sir. She has been well taught."

Lestrade was more than hesitant. But, what other real option did they have? He nodded. "Alright. Come on." He softly gestured for Irene to step forth. She gingerly made her way up, like a kitten cautiously making its way into a new environment. Loosening up a bit, she performed Buenos Aires, one of the more well known song of the musical, aside from Don't Cry For Me, Argentina. Her performance and voice stunned the others, and even Lestrade. Who'd to think a girl like her could perform with such true passion? This made all the doubt leave Greg's mind, and he immediately casted Irene for the role.

The audience soon fell in love with Irene's performance, finding her to be almost better than Sally. It was where one of the audience members recognized her. An old friend who hadn't seen her in what felt like ages. When the work was done, Sherlock quickly went to see her. But, was soon stopped by her assistant, Kate. "The Mistress wishes to see no one at the moment, sir." Was all she was willing to spill out. "Oh, do come back later, love." Irene soon called out, being a little exhausted from acting. He nodded, wanting to respect her wishes, and went to come back later.

Sherlock soon returned with a single flower. But, upon coming closer to her dressing room door, he heard two voices. One was Irene's. He could tell her voice apart from the others. The second voice, however, he wasn't familiar with. It was of a man. Irish, by the sound of his accent.

"I am dead. Tonight, I gave you _everything_." Irene spoke soft and low as if she was praying.

"Oh, my dear." The man sounded delighted, as he always was when he saw Irene perform. "The angels surely wept tonight by your charm and grace. No one on Earth can do for you what I can. But you _must_ love me."

Sherlock grew insulted by that, and he barged into Irene's dressing room, only to find Irene alone. The room was small, coming with a makeup mirror, a curtain for changing behind, and a large mirror that spanned from wall to wall. "How dare you enter without permission." She hissed a bit, crossing her arms. Sherlock softened his expression and sighed. "Please forgive me, Miss Adler." He simply muttered. She sighed as well, getting up from her seat and walking over to him. He offered the flower, hoping it would help. She took it generously, and gave him a small kiss on the cheek. She was still mad at him, though.

"How has your brother been recently?" She asked him. It's been a while since she had heard from Mycroft. "He's been alright." He simply replied with. He had a strange relationship with his older brother, though it bordered on sibling rivalry and slight disgust on his part. "Where is he?" He then asked her. "He who?" She asked, genuinely having no clue what Sherlock was talking about. "That man. Where are you hiding him?" He then added, going around and looking for this other man. "There was no one else here. Believe me." Irene commented. "I heard him. I know he's here." Irene couldn't believe he had been spying on her. "There is no man. I thought I was the only one who could hear him." Sherlock looked over at her as if she was going mad.

"Irene, there is no spirit. You're being played for a fool." He didn't believe in spirits, and he was certainly not going to start now. " _Yes, there is._ How could a man teach me all this splendor?" She questioned. "You can see there is nobody here." She then added before Sherlock could reply, gesturing to around the room. Sherlock gave a mocking sort of laugh. "Stop spying on me." She then bitterly hissed. "Get out! Leave me! Get out!" She then picked up a small, empty glass perfume bottle that was nearby, and threw it in Sherlock's general direction. He barely missed it. In anger, Sherlock then left, nearly slamming the door in the process.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Irene finally meets her 'angel of music' face to face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me that this took a while. Been busy with school and other personal things.  
> Deformity comes (partially) from the Robert Englund version

Despite the fight, Irene and Sherlock continued to see each other in the days after. With the singer's rising popularity came many suitors and gifts. All of which made Donovan super furious, and she had many times tried to tear her down. But, every attempt had failed, thanks to some intrusion of either Sherlock or Irene's mysterious angel. The man who kept his face in the darkness, away from the eyes of others.

On this particular night, with the hallways so silent, the sound of a pin dropping could deafen anyone, Irene was taking her hair out of their curls, getting ready for bed. As if by mystical force, she heard the softest sounds of a violin playing in the distance. It was the sweetest sound she had ever heard while, at the same time, it also made shivers flow up and down her spine. The sound couldn't have been coming from Sherlock, as he had already left for home. So where was the source of this flawless masterpiece? "Who's there?" Irene called out.

"Have you already forgotten about your angel?" A familiar voice came out, and the singer's fears were lifted, and so were the corners of her pale lips. "Oh, my sweet angel. I have missed you so." She nearly collapsed onto her knees. Her fragile heart came close to leaping out her chest. "Be still, my child." It replied calmly, just happy to see her. "I believe it is time you saw your angel. Just come to the mirror and I will be there." As if in a trance, Irene slowly wondered to the mirror. At first, she was only able to see her reflection staring back at her. The large piece of glass then magically opened to reveal a secret passage, and she walked right into it. The mirror closed behind her. Inside, the passage was dimly lit, and it nearly felt stuffy. Nearby, near the end of it, was a figure that was slightly taller than her. His attire, while very formal, seemed casual as well. The major difference she was able to notice in the dimness was that part of his face was covered by some type of mask. All in all, he was beautiful. The figured smirked seeing her staring, but said nothing as he offered a gloved hand to her. She took a hesitant second, but took his up his offer.

As the two of them traveled down the dark labyrinth and onto a gondola to his domain, the sense of a bond grew stronger in the singer. There was just something about him that made her so enchanted. It was all a sight for sore eyes. His rather large looking home didn't look nearly as grand on the outside as it did on the inside. It looked like a proper home, with the grandest of furniture and all. All the words had left Irene's lips. While her eyes scanned the room, absorbing every vivid detail, he went to pour her a small glass of brandy.

It was a short while later that she finally spoke up. "Who are you?" It was clear that he wasn't an actual ghost or angel, as she was lead to believe. Her slow disillusionment was clear in her eyes. A brief appearance of sadness appeared on the man's face, but away from her viewing eyes. He soon perked up and turned to hand her the glass. "As you can see, I am not a spirit, or a ghost. Jim... Jim Moriarty." He finally gave a name to whatever face he was wiling to show. "Why have you brought me here? I cannot stay for long." She then asked him. She had her future in mind. "Oh, but you simply _can't_ go." He intervened. "Don't you understand?"

"Understand what?" She was baffled. "I love you. I brought you here out of love, my dear Irene." With that, Irene took a few steps back. "Love?" She repeated. "You lure me away and claim to love me?" "I had to." He defended his case. "You would have came more willingly sooner, had it not been for that young man." His mention of Sherlock made Jim sick to his stomach. "Sherlock? What do you know of him?" The young singer demanded of her 'angel'. "Enough to know what I had to do." He retorted. "I admit I have deceived you. But, I am no saint. Just a man who loves you. Forgive me." Irene couldn't believe her ears. "But how can I forgive you? What kind of man are you?" She was asking all these questions that Jim couldn't even begin to answer. "What honest man covers up his face? Take off that mask." She reached up to remove his mask, the one thing that, in Jim's mind, was the very line between life and death. He took several steps back, putting up an arm in defense. "You must _never_ see my face."

"What are you possibly afraid of? Have you not made me your prisoner?" She asked, her tone never changed. "You are a prisoner of love." Jim pleaded. "I am not a wicked man. Not at all. Love me, and you shall see..." He was cut short when Irene took a bold step and took off his mask, revealing his true identity. The sight alone was enough to make a blood curdling scream burst out from the depths of Irene's lungs. His face was burnt badly, as most of his facial muscles, and even a part of his skull, were exposed. It was like revealing the inner workings of an automaton.

Jim pulled Irene close to him, giving her no room to even think about trying to escape his grip, forcing her to look at his face. Horror was pouring out her eyes, as she struggled to get out. "Look at me!" He demanded, his sharp voice mirrored it. "You wanted to know what I looked like. Feast your eyes on my cursed ugliness!" Pushing her away, he turned away from her gaze. Anger, some feelings of betrayal, and even fear swirled around him. Was she not satisfied with just hearing his voice? She had to see his broken appearance. This damnable face that belonged in Hell, unworthy to see such grace and beauty as Irene was. He had to fight the tears that his dark eyes had started producing. "Why did you want to see me?" He didn't turn to face her again. He couldn't let her see the pain, though it was evident in his voice. "My own father never saw me, and even my mother made me wear a mask." "Jim, you must not keep me here." Irene once again pleaded for him to let her go. "You can _never_ leave." He sternly informed her. "As long as you thought me handsome, you would have come back. But now that you know my ugliness, you would run away for good."

"Jim..." The singer started calmly. "You may show me your face without fear. If _ever_ again I shudder when I look at you, it will be because I am thinking of your great genious." Hearing that, Jim's face contorted to one of optimism and hope. Two things that seemed new to him. He kelt down to kiss the very helm of her dress. Irene turned her head and shuttered, a brief flash of disgust was on her face. She soon turned to face him. "Believe me, Jim. I _will_ come back. You must not keep me here by force."

With that, Jim willingly took her back up to the opera house.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A rather short chapter. Can probably be ignored, if you wish to.

Early the next morning, Sherlock, who barely got any sleep the night before, kept pacing around the living room of the flat, while his brother, Mycroft, ate his breakfast of toast and eggs. "Come now, Sherlock. You can't keep worrying about Miss Adler." He told Sherlock. While he doesn't always outwardly show it, he was always looking out for his baby brother.

"But she hasn't messages me yet. She almost always replies to my messages. This isn't like her." Sherlock replied quickly in both timing and speed. He was usually concerned for Irene. Even more now, since he was now aware of another man who shared the same interests in her, if not much more. He never thought the feeling of jealously would ever come to him. But, it did, and it hit _hard_.

"Must I keep reminding you, Sherlock? Caring is not an advantage." Mycroft then told him. It was a piece of advice he had gotten when he was younger, which he followed ever since, and he continuously told him.

Sherlock just rolled his cyan blue eyes. "Just worry about that diet of yours. How is the diet going along? Gained any more weight?" Sherlock always resorted to mocking Mycroft's diet whenever he could.

"Losing it, in fact." He corrected him.

Just then, Sherlock had recieved a text. He knew exactly who it came from, considering the text alert. Irene had changed it to something a bit more.. erotic.

"Sherlock, how many time do I have to remind you about that?" Mycroft sighed. Of course, Sherlock ignored it entirely in favor of reading the text.

[text] Morning, love. Sorry for the wait. -IA

[text] I need to speak to you. -IA

[text] Alone. -IA

[text] In my dressing room. -IA

"I can only guess that's from her?" Mycroft asked with mock interest.

Sherlock said nothing, only smirking. "I have to go. Try not to start a war while I'm gone, brother. You know what that does to traffic." He rushed out the door to head to the studio.


	4. Chapter 4

Irene was waiting in her dressing room, pacing around a bit nervously. She kept looking around, in case Jim was watching her again. She almost wished he wasn't so obsessed with her.

Soon, Sherlock came, flinging the door almost wide open, nearly giving Irene a heart attack. She was looking as lovely as ever. "Irene, my darling." He called out with joy to finally hear from her, ignoring, at first, the nervousness in her expression.

Irene briefly looked around and placed her finger to her lip. "Don't be so loud." She warned him, in an almost ominous whisper. "He can hear through walls." She didn't want Jim to hear that Sherlock was here. Oh, how mad he could get.

Sherlock was confused as to what Irene was talking about. The nervousness in her face became more clear to him. "Who is?" He asked her in a worried tone.

Irene turned his back to him. "You were right." She muttered in painful admission. "He is a man. My angel of music was a man all along." She was almost entirely disappointed in that.

Sherlock crossed his arms. "So... your lover revealed himself, did he?" He asked, almost sternly, but he didn't mean for it to sound as harsh as it did.

Irene stayed silent, and just closed her eyes.

"What is it you wanted to talk to be about?" Sherlock then asked her.

Irene turned to face him and she slowly opened her eyes. "I wanted to tell you that you can never try and see me again." She regretfully informed him. 

Sherlock was surprised and rather hurt by that. "You messaged me only to tell me this?"

Irene hung her head in shame.

"You are cruel, Irene." He then commented. "Where is he?" He suddenly inquired, with a burst of anger. "I shall seek him out, and prove to you who really loves you." Sherlock was more than determined to find this man.

Irene grew more awake and grabbed his arm with desperation. "You shall not. Jim would surely kill you." She didn't want to hurt Sherlock, which was why she was doing all of this.

This caught Sherlock's attention. "So.. his name is Jim." He then grew softer. "Do you love him?" He couldn't help but to ask her.

"I do _not_ love him. I love _you_." Irene assured him.

"Then tell me you hate him." Sherlock demanded.

"I do _not_ hate him." She felt rather confident in her statement.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" He began. "Than what _do_ you feel for him?" He crossed his arms again.

"Horror" She confessed. "And that's just the thing about it. He fills me with horror, yet I do not hate him." She turned to face him. A combination of worry and terror was played on her face. "How can I hate him when he loves me so? When he grovels at my feet. Sherlock... if you love me, promise me that you will not try to see me again. Unless I send for you."

Sherlock's mind palace couldn't process anything that was going on. "I don't understand." He informed her. "You confess that you love me, yet forbid me to see you."

"Believe me, Sherlock.. it is _because_ I love you." Irene assured her lover. She was trying to say it in a way that he would understand that all of this was for his safety.

"You will send for me, won't you?" Sherlock asked.

"But of course." Irene gave him a soft smile.

"When?" He then asked her.

"At the masquerade ball tonight." She informed him. "Make sure you're heavily disguised in a Harlequin costume, and that no one recognizes you. I shall explain everything then."

Little did either one of them know that Jim was listening in on their conversation.


	5. Chapter 5

Throughout the day, Sherlock and Irene had to avoid each other. Sherlock, on Irene's suggestion. Irene, in fear of Jim's rage. While he already knew of their chat, that didn't stop Jim from leaving behind small gifts for Irene. Mainly, a red rose with a black ribbon tied around it in a bow. It also didn't stop Jim from seeing the singer. While Irene adored Jim for what he was doing for her, she wasn't sure if she could ever love him the same way he loved her. But, she never had the heart to tell him, cause she knew it would break him.

That night, at the masquerade ball, Sherlock was standing in the corner of the room in his costume, waiting for Irene. He thought this was a waste of his time, but he wanted to know what was going on. Then, Irene came in, dressed in a similar costume, just in a different color, and she went looking for Sherlock. She soon found him.

"Irene? Is that you?" He asked in a quiet tone when he saw her coming.

Irene put a finger to her lips. "Come on." She gently took his hand lead him silently out of the room.

Jim, who was dressed up and hiding within the crowd, saw the two, and followed swiftly behind them.

Sherlock followed Irene as she lead him the the roof of the building. Once they got there, the both of them took their masks off and they shared a quick kiss. The sight of that alone was enough to slowly break Jim's heart. But, he didn't say a word as he remained hidden.

"Now, Irene, can you please tell me what's going on with Jim?" Sherlock soon asked. He hated being left in the dark. Especially with things like this.

Irene gave a quick sigh, and quickly explained everything that was happening, like how he was like his devoted slave and would do anything for her, even kill. "He allows me my freedom. He gave his solemn word on it. Sherlock, you must take me away from here." She pleaded with him.

Sherlock knew he didn't want her to have to face that insane monstrosity for the rest of her life. "When? and where would we go?"

"Tomorrow night will be my final performance. You are to meet me at the back entrance with the carriage. As soon as the performance is over with, I'll join you, and we'll leave this place. Somewhere far away where no one will ever find us."

Jim growled in pain and anger in his hiding spot. His Irene abandoning him? He won't allow it. Whatever humanity he had left fled him then and there. He was determined to have Irene as his. If he couldn't have her, _no one_ would.

Getting back home, Sherlock was stunned when he didn't hear his brother scolding him for coming home late. Looking around the flat, he soon discovered why that was. Mycroft was on the bed, as dead as a door-nail, with a message and a bottle of poison on the dresser. He knew Mycroft couldn't have possibly have committed suicide, so he must have been murdered. Looking at the note, it held a rather chilling message inside:

That's strike one, Mr. Holmes.

Irene belongs to _me_. You can't have her.

Continue in your interference, and you risk another life.

~JM


	6. Chapter 6

The following night, it was the production of Carmen, with Irene playing the lead role of Carmen. It was a role she wanted to play ever since she was a little girl. It was a complete dream come true. It was a shame it was going to be her last one. Well, it was nice to end on a high night. She was getting her makeup ready when a knock came to her door. "It's open." She called out. She wished she didn't, since it was Anderson who came in. A semi-bitter look came to her face. "What do you want, Philip? Did Sally send you to mess with me?" She asked. It wouldn't surprise her that Donovan would send her lover to do some of her dirty work, since he was on her side.

Anderson had to keep himself from rolling his eyes. "I'm not always doing Sally's biding." He told her. "And I'm not here to mess with you. Lestrade wanted to know how much longer with you be in preparing."

"I'll be ready when I'm ready." She gently informed him, as opposed to how Sally would. Irene wasn't planing on being like her. Even if she didn't quite like Anderson, he didn't deserved to be yelled at. He already got enough of that from Donovan.

He gave a sigh. He never got straight answers from _anyone_. Looking her over, she did look lovely. Though, it wasn't like he was going to admit _that_ out loud. "Oh.. that reminds me." he remembered, taking a small letter out of his pocket. "You have a little something. It's from the freak."

Irene glared at him, mentally scolding him for calling Sherlock that, but she only gently took the letter from him. "Thanks, Philip." She muttered, and she dismissed him from her room, which Anderson left promptly. Reading it, she was shocked at the content. "My dearest Irene..." She began to read out loud. "I cannot see you any longer. Please don't ask why. Just remember that I still love you. Forever yours, Sherlock." Her voice shook when she neared the end. How could he could do such a thing to her? Her heart became severely broken. The singer couldn't stop the tears from realing up in her light eyes.

Soon, she heard a small noise. Heart starting to race, she briefly looked around. "Who's there?" She cautiously called out.

Jim was standing on the other side of the mirror. "Irene..." He softly replie, barely audible.

"What could you possibly want from me now, Jim?" She asked, looking over to the mirror.

"Now don't be obvious, my dear." He responded. "I don't _want_ anything from you. Just you and you alone."

Irene wiped off a few tears from her face. Of course, it ruined some of her makeup.

"Come here, my little angel." Jim opened the mirror and encouraged her over.

Irene came out of her seat and darted over to him, holding him tightly and burying her face in his neck.

Jim made a few gentle shushing sounds. "It's alright, Irene. You know I'm still here for you." He softly told her. Of course, the comfort was a part of the act. It was, in fact, him who faked the letter from Sherlock. He knew that, if he could convince Irene that Sherlock wanted nothing to do with her anymore, she would come running to him by default. "Come, my dear." He gently escorted her out of the room.

Not really thinking straight, Irene followed close by, holding onto his arm. She tried to take Sherlock off her mind, even though it was a hard thing to do.

Making it through the labyrinth of hallways, and over the lake to the house, he didn't hesitate to help with Irene's heart. "Forget him, Irene. He could never truly love anyone." He told her. Sherlock still made Jim sick to his stomach.

"I'm trying. But, I don't know how to." She told him. She was still upset over the letter.

Jim gave the appearance of thinking. Of course, he already had everything laid out. "I have one thing. But, I must ask you an important question." He turned Irene aroud so that he was facing him, their bodies close, and she was looking right at him. "Do you trust me?"

Irene gave it a few moments of thought. Could she really trust him, knowing everything that he's done, and all that he could do? "Yes.." She finally answered. She was almost hypnotized by him.

Jim swallowed his smirk, and he gently lifted her chin up, leaning down a bit to press her lips to his. Irene reciprocated happily, and even deepened the kiss. Things were going exactly as planned.

Meanwhile, Sherlock had gotten to the opera house, having came from Mycroft's funeral. "Excuse me.." He called out to one of the workers. "Have you seen Miss Adler?"

"Last I saw her, she was in her room." He told him.

Sherlock rushed over to Irene's dressing room. He was shocked to find that it was locked. He startedto bang on the door with his fist. "Irene! Irene!" He called out. No answer. He heard a sudden scream and a thud. Running to where the source of the noise was, he stopped in place when he saw Lestrade on the floor, dead. He was stabbed in the back. Attached to the knife was yet another note:

Strike two, Sherlock.

Do not take my warnings lightly.

One more strike, and it will be your life on the line.

~JM

Sherlock balled his fist up into a ball. Jim was taking things too far. Ignoring his warning, we went on a search for Irene. He was more than determined to get her back. Little did he know that the damage that Jim had done was complete.

Back in Jim's home, the sounds of moans and groans were echoing throughout the walls of the house. Irene was clawing at Jim's bare back, legs around his waist as he continued to thrust into her. Almost her entire neck was black and blue from how many times Jim was nipping and biting it. "My God, Jim!" She nearly screamed out loud as she neared her climax. Their heart rates nearly synchronized with each other. As soon as Irene came, so did Jim, purposely spilling his seed in her, splashing some on her stomach as well. Irene was too caught up in catching her breath to realize what he had done. All she knew was that it felt so good.

Irene Adler now belonged to Jim. Sherlock wasn't going to take his angel away from him.


End file.
